Daughter from the Elysian choir,
On thy holy ground we walk,
Reeling with ecstatic fire!”
His eyes shone with enthusiasm, his cheeks glowed, and a heavenly smile illumined his whole countenance, while reciting his song “To Joy.” His friends caught the inspiration of his poem, arose with one accord from their seats, clasped hands and gazed into each other’s eyes—into the eyes that shone lustrously, although they were filled with tears. Now, at the culminating point of his rapture, Schiller’s countenance suddenly quivered with pain as he recited a second verse of his song:
“Yea—who calls one soul his own,
One on all earth’s ample round:—
Who cannot, may steal alone,
Weeping from our holy ground.”
“Who cannot, may steal alone, weeping from our holy ground,” repeated his friends. The tears gushed from their eyes; they clasped hands more firmly, and listened breathlessly to the words of the poet, whose voice now rose again to the high tones of enthusiasm. It was almost like an adoration of joy, friendship, and love. Their hearts beat higher, mightier and mightier the waves of rapture surged in their kindred souls.
“Myriads join the fond embrace!